Then Came That Fateful Day
by x.keepingthemoon.x
Summary: The sheriff was having a long day. It was almost over when another trip to the station for Derek Hale complicated things. Mentions of Sterek!


**I do not own Teen Wolf! **

* * *

The sheriff sighed deeply as he walked up the now-familiar steps onto the rickety porch. He was really starting to get tired of making the same trip into the woods so often.

Seriously though, this was his _fifth _trip in three weeks. How Hale found himself constantly in trouble was beyond him.

He raised his fist to knock on the old oak door, paper in his hand.

Before his fist could make contact with the wood, the door swung inward and he found himself face to face with none other than the once-again-possible felon, Derek Hale.

Well, that was creepy.

The young man in the doorway looked unsurprised at the presence of his visitor.

Sheriff Stilinski scoffed internally. Did this guy have some sixth sense or something? Wouldn't surprise him if he did, actually. Anyone who was stupid enough to live in this haunted old pile of ash had to have some sort of protection.

Derek crossed his arms over his chest, his usual stoic poker face firmly in place.

"Sheriff," he nodded slightly. "What have I done this time?"

Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat. "Break and enter."

"Really." Ok, so that wasn't a question. The sheriff mulled this over. A sign of guilt, perhaps? His lips pursed in thought. Nah, even a stupid criminal could fake it better than that.

"You don't seem too surprised."

"Well, I'm starting to get used to the cops showing up on my doorstep."

Hmm. Attitude?

"Right. Well. I have a warrant for your arrest and to search your personal belongings. I'm afraid I have to take you in."

His face never changed. "Phone and laptop again, right?"

"Right. I have to escort you to collect them."

Derek eyed the sheriff for a moment before turning and disappearing into the house.

Sheriff Stilinski looked over his shoulder at his partner, who was watching from the safety of the cruiser before stepping over the threshold. Some backup he was. What a bunch of ninnies he worked with. Send them into gunfire and they'll go without so much as a blink, but mention the Hale residence and they turn into wailing children, every single one of them.

He'd barely taken a step when Derek appeared in front of him, belongings in hand.

The sheriff jumped. "That was fast. Know I was coming?"

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Something like that."

"That a confession, Hale?"

"You've got a warrant for my arrest. I doubt a confession would make a difference."

Hm. There was surely something off about this guy. He was possibly the worst criminal in history. Traces of his hair had been found at the crime scene, a small convenience store near the edge of town. On the cash register, nonetheless. Didn't get much more straightforward than that.

"Are you always such a bag of glitter, Hale?"

Derek said nothing, following the man out to the car in silence.

He opened the door to the backseat and Derek climbed in.

"No cuffs this time?"

"Believe me Hale, you know the drill by now and I know you're not gonna run. This is becoming routine for the both of us."

"What happened to protocol?"

"It's not too late if you do want to be tied up, Hale."

* * *

Derek spent the rest of the drive in silence. He was going to _murder _Scott. No, seriously, he might actually do it this time. This was becoming ridiculous. Ever since Stiles had told his best friend that he and Derek were together, Scott made it his personal mission to show Derek what he thought of him and his best friend as a couple. Naturally he thought that Stiles deserved someone better. It was not news: Derek obviously knew that. Scott's hopes had been that Derek would get sick of his ever-growing list of criminal activities and break it off with Stiles to save himself.

Well, too bad, Scott. Derek would be an idiot if he ever let Stiles go for his own personal gain.

And so he found himself on his fifth trip to the police station in just over three weeks.

Stupid Scott and his stupid sneaky werewolf abilities.

Of course, Scott knew that Derek would never say he was being framed by the boy because he would have to reveal their relationship to the _Sheriff_, who was conveniently Stiles' dad; a feat that neither he nor Stiles – and most definitely the sheriff as well - was ready for.

As fast as the incriminating evidence had appeared it would then disappear – leaving Derek a free man with a quickly growing list of criminal activity and a regular face at the station.

The first time he was taken in for murder was as a result of Scott's unquenchable curiosity.

The second, aggravated assault. Something Scott had paid Jackson for his help with. After spending the night in the slammer, the "victim" had dropped the charges against him.

The third time the police had received an anonymous tip that Derek was supplying alcohol to minors. Despite the lack of arrest, the suspicion was enough to leave yet another mark on his record.

The fourth time was a speeding ticket. Derek knew that as simple as that sounded, Scott had to have been behind it. He had never once seen the police using a mobile speed camera that lead along the road toward the woods. He'd never seen police there, period. Coincidentally he happened to receive the fine on the day he'd mentioned to Scott and Stiles that he'd just finished some modifications on his Camaro and was going to be testing it out.

Go figure.

And now here he was, on suspicion of break and enter.

He looked out the window as the cruiser pulled up in front of the station.

He followed the sheriff inside, glaring his usual glare at the officers who were so obviously entertained by the fact that he was being questioned again.

"This way, Hale." The sheriff led him down the hallway and into the interrogation room, where Derek took a seat at the table.

"After a search of your belongings I'll be in for questioning. Any questions?"

Derek shook his head.

"Right." The older man turned and walked out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

Derek sighed and folded his arms, leaning back slightly in the seat.

It was going to be another long day.

* * *

Sheriff Stilinski whistled along to the radio as he strolled back through the station. He'd left Hale's belongings with the tech guys as he'd come into the station so they could override the passwords.

He knew what he had to look for. Incriminating files, details of the crime scene, photos of the store, etc, etc. People who usually performed break and enters weren't usually stupid enough to leave evidence laying around though. Previous sweeps of Hale's stuff were all clear.

He looked at his watch. It usually took the techies about five minutes to override the passwords and crack open any locked files. It had only been two.

Perfect. He grinned. Enough time to get coffee.

He nodded to one of the deputies as he entered the small kitchen area, almost moaning at the smell of a freshly brewed jug of coffee.

He was due to finish at midday – in just under an hour's time – but the night had been so long. Nearing the end of an eighteen hour shift always meant coffee was a much-needed necessity.

He filled his mug up, thinking about how night shifts were always the longest. Oh well, someone had to do them. He hated leaving Stiles at home by himself all the time, but there were certain responsibilities that came with the role of Sheriff that couldn't be ignored.

Unfortunately, eighteen hour shifts were one of them.

He took a drink of his coffee, closing his eyes as the warm liquid ran down his throat.

Right. The sooner he was done with Hale, the sooner he could get out of here.

He stopped by the tech office, picking up the laptop and phone that were unlocked and ready to go. He was about to leave when he noticed one of the senior techies eyeing him strangely.

The sheriff stopped. "Everything alright, Jim?"

The man's eyes widened. "Er – yeah, John."

"Alright then." Sheriff Stilinski nodded slowly.

Hmm. Jim was acting weird. But, he was an old friend, even from before they'd started working on the force together ten years ago. If there was something really wrong, no doubt he'd let him know.

The sheriff shook it from his mind as he entered his office and took a seat at his desk, ready to begin his invasion into Derek Hale's personal life. Not that he had much of a life, by the look of it.

He opened the laptop first, scoffing at the generic desktop background that comes on every single computer.

Not much of a life, indeed.

The search took about three minutes altogether. There were no photos, no videos and no music. There were a couple of document files on lycanthropy – whatever _that _was – and one on some weird plant but that was about it. There was nothing at all in the 'Recycle Bin' or 'Recent Files'.

The sheriff smirked. At this rate he might even get an early mark.

He closed the computer and pushed it to the side, pulling the phone out of the evidence bag it was in.

Taking a large mouthful of coffee, he placed his mug back on the table and pushed the button to awaken the phone.

The sheriff looked at the screen for only a split second before spitting his coffee all over the table in front of him.

_Not in this lifetime, buddy!_

He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and pushed the chair back, the wooden legs making a horrible sound upon friction with the wooden floor.

He strode from the room, back through the building to where one Derek Hale was waiting. The other members of the department took one look and him and jumped out of the way as he stormed across the floor.

The sheriff was going to charge Derek Hale with anything and everything he could possibly think of.

* * *

Derek looked up when the door was thrown open, the blinds rattling as it bounced back off the wall.

He opened his mouth to say something but stopped when he saw the look of pure, unadulterated rage on the sheriff's face. The man looked livid, with something (possibly coffee?) running down his chin. It was something Derek would have been glad to never ever see again. Ever.

The sheriff stopped in front of him and Derek sat up straight.

"Care to explain _this_?" He almost spat the words, and Derek flinched.

The man held Derek's phone out in front of him and pressed the button on the phone, lighting up the screen.

Derek took one look at the screen and blanched. He could actually feel every last drop of blood draining from his face.

There, on the screen of _his _phone, was a picture of him and Stiles.

The sheriff's son.

In Derek's _bed_.

Clothed nonetheless, but it was evident where they were.

Derek was fast asleep in his t-shirt and boxers, his mouth open slightly as a result of his endless snoring Stiles loved to tease him about.

Stiles held the phone above them, the waistband of his own boxers clearly showing next to his very bare torso.

He was wrapped around Derek, smiling devilishly up at the camera as he placed a kiss on his boyfriend's neck.

It had been taken that morning; that much Derek could tell. Being morning still, he hadn't even used his phone that day. Stiles obviously made it his background before he left to go to school.

Derek risked a glance up at the sheriff's face, who, upon seeing no attempt at a denial, was looking even more livid than when he'd entered the room.

Well, at least Scott wouldn't have to worry about Stiles anymore.

Derek would be dead before the day was out.


End file.
